


body, body

by lady_gt



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Crying, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Victim Blaming, Vomiting, handjobs and misery is the best way to describe this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_gt/pseuds/lady_gt
Summary: Apparently for his fellow students, Laurence is getting to be a bit of a problem.
Relationships: Laurence (Bloodborne)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 11





	body, body

**Author's Note:**

> i have seen really good and really dark bloodborne fic out there, and there needs to be more w/ laurence. so i am here to bring it to you.
> 
> so this was kiiiiinda inspired by "wrought red" by hambone?? which was more about alfred in a similar situation. ofc bc it's laurence i really wanted to try and deviate from it - here it's less about the chastity/sin dichotomy and more just about. the numbness and quiet anger and self-blame laurence feels bc since he has a past history involved w/ sexual shit he and the others around him feel like he /deserves it/ i guess.
> 
> idk this kinda doubled as both a writing challenge and a character study?? hella interesting to write. but anyways im not gonna bore you, so here we go.

"If it's not too much to ask of you, Laurence, could you help me?"

It is the end of the day, students flooding the hallways from the classrooms they'd occupied mere moments ago. Laurence is among them, on his way back to his dorm where he will shelve today's textbooks away and wait to meet up with Ludwig - at long last they've finally managed to schedule a few moments worth of time to themselves. Now, however, Laurence has been stopped by one of his classmates: Iro, a bespectacled, rather mousy-looking young man that he's been partnered with on assignments and joined in study sessions before.

"What is it you need help with? I'm planning on meeting with someone a bit later this afternoon - hopefully it won't take too long."

Iro nods. "Won't take more than a moment, Laurence, I promise. I couldn't find one of my textbooks today, and it was only too late that I realized I must have left it in your dorm room by mistake. We'd had that study session together, remember?"

"I don't remember there being a textbook in my room, but it could just be my memory failing me - I'll help you look for it."

He stares at Laurence, a small smile lighting up his face. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"No problem at all."

They make their way briskly through the corridors of Byrgenwerth. Fellow scholars float by them, unaware of their presence even though their footsteps echo just as loud upon the ground as everyone else's. The sunny weather outside is reflected by pale, bronze-colored light spilling through the windows to illuminate their surroundings. _It's quite pretty out,_ Laurence thinks to himself. _Perfect for a walk._

Things have been better as of late. He recalls his earlier pessimism with mild regret - he thought that just because of one isolated incident that Byrgenwerth would be no different than his life before. How wrong he'd been! He's been lucky enough to befriend Ludwig, who's been very kind to him so far. He does his best in his studies and it reflects - he thinks he's earned some semblance of respect from Master Willem, at the very least. Even Micolash, who he'd had an unfortunate encounter with very early on in the year, seems to be keeping his distance from him. His circumstances are starting to look up for him, and Laurence is very much happy about it.

"Here we are." He stops in front of the door to his room. Fingers fumble for a moment, and then the door opens on its creaky hinges. He opens the door to let Iro inside first, the latter of whom immediately rushes in.

Laurence enters, closing the door shut behind him with a click. His dorm room is nothing luxurious (then again, what dorm room is) with its closed-in, short walls and bed and trunk lined up against the wall. Iro stares at the small space, eyes squinting behind his spectacles.

"Have you tried retracing your steps?" Laurence asks. "Maybe that would help."

"...Well, our study session the other day was here. I think I left later in the evening and went straight back to my own room. It was only this morning that I realized I didn't have my textbook - I needed it for Master Frederick's class and couldn't find it, even with help. And I _know_ I had it with me, Laurence."

"You were sitting on my bed, weren't you?"

Iro nods. "I was."

"Maybe you knocked it underneath the bed and didn't notice it. May I help you check?"

"Yes, of course."

He bends down first to look underneath the bed. Shadow-shrouded ground greets him. Cautious of hitting his head against hard wood, Laurence sticks his hand beneath the bed and gropes around. He hopes his fingers will bump up against a hard, heavy leather-bound spine or even thin frayed pages. But so far there's nothing. He sticks his arm out further, trying to see if he can distinguish any shapes in the darkness beneath the bed. But his hand is quickly smearing with dust, the odd and unpleasant smell beginning to hinder his ability to concentrate. Behind him, Iro follows suit.

"I can't really find anything," he says. "I haven't touched anything that feels like a book yet. Maybe if you could check the other side, we might-"

With his free hand Iro grabs hold of Laurence by the hair and shoves him up against the side of the bed. Sharp pain erupts against Laurence's forehead and he wrenches himself free from Iro's grasp. His arm goes limp from the sudden injury.

"Ow! What in the world was th-"

This time his head slams against the floor. Grunting in pain, Laurence looks up to try and figure out what Iro's doing. Fingers find their way to his hair again and yank him up, moving to grip him by his collar and slam him down onto the bed. Confused, Laurence tries to get up - _Iro, what are you doing, what's happening_ \- but Iro seats himself on top of Laurence, keeping him pinned down.

"Just as I thought. You know, Laurence, even considering where you came from I was certain you weren't _that_ stupid."

A twinge of fear erupts in Laurence's chest. "What does this have to do with stupidity? Is this some sort of joke?! Get off me!"

He can feel the blood flow in his legs beginning to cut off and struggles to free himself, trying and failing to kick his legs up. Iro doesn't move a bit from where he's seated on top of Laurence even with the thrashing, and instead rocks himself just a little closer, pressing his groin against Laurence's stomach. He tries to tilt his head away, but the sharp edge of a knife gleaming just above his head makes Laurence cease.

"You've forgotten your place, I see. You liken yourself to one of us, think that just because you wear the Byrgenwerth robes that you're a part of our ranks. But you're not, Laurence. You aren't one of us and you never will be."

"I don't know what you're talking about - let go!"

"Sure you don't - playing dumb, I see. I shouldn't be surprised, though. Whores'll make whatever excuses they can even when they're practically asking for it."

"Who said I was asking for anything, get off me! I don't know what's going on!" Panic rises up in him. A lump forms in his throat, and Laurence opens his mouth to scream-

Iro presses the tip of the knife to his neck, threatening to break skin.

"Not another word out of you. Keep your mouth shut. It'd be really unfortunate-" he allows the blade to dig a little deeper into Laurence's skin, sharp and pointed and very close to drawing blood "-if my hand slipped and I slit your throat open by accident."

Swallowing down his fear, Laurence remains quiet.

"You're not one of us, Laurence. You've always been a pathetic little whore, and you calling yourself a Byrgenwerth scholar won't make any difference. Tell me, how much cock did you have to take in order to get on your professors' good sides?"

Laurence begins to shake violently when Iro moves his hand down. When he speaks at last, his voice is quiet and raspy.

"That's not true. I didn't do _any_ of that when I got here, I didn't-"

"Liar. Know your place - some of us had to work harder to get here. We can't all just whore ourselves out to anyone with enough money just to get a spot here. Stop fooling yourself."

Iro rocks into him a little. Laurence cringes at the feeling of something _hard_ pressing just above him. Numbness begins to prickle his legs, when he tries to so much as slightly shift his position he feels pins and needles pricking at his legs. He hates it, hates the fact that he's trapped in his own dorm room by someone he thought was at least alright and saw him as an equal and not someone so vile and disgusting and dirtied and _knows_ it, knows that if he wasn't so stupid and dirtied that he wouldn't find himself here. It's his fault that he's here, his fault that the only thing he's good for is being used.

To his horror, Laurence finds himself getting hard. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, arousal every bit as responsible for it as fear is. He starts hyperventilating when Iro crawls off him, tucking his knife into his shirt pocket to undress him. Cringing, Laurence closes his eyes. _He's going to see,_ he thinks to himself, _He's going to see you growing hard even though he forced you into it and it's your fault, your fault, your fault-_

Iro begins to laugh. It's harsh, bitter laughing that grates on Laurence's ears. "You're really getting off to this even after I held a knife to your throat? By the Blood, Laurence, you're disgusting."

Iro moves a little farther down away from Laurence's legs, causing the prickling of pins and needles to intensify.His hand rests between Laurence's legs and he presses a little too hard. He earns a choked little gasp in response, followed up with Laurence emphatically shaking his head "no". He can't speak save for the noises Iro wants him to make (noises that he himself doesn't want to make). His face twists up in despair, were it not for the fact that he's trapped in his own room by a fellow student who has a knife - a place he used to think of as safe, a sanctuary from the chaos beyond - he'd throw up. But Laurence has a feeling that if he did, Iro would put that knife of his to good use and would go so far as to actually break skin.

He twists his head away when Iro begins to rub at him through his pants, fingers reaching down to cup his cock through fabric. He can feel the pressure spreading between his legs - pleasurable, sending a rush through him - and has to bite down on the inside of his mouth to keep from crying or making more noise. It hurts, the feeling of teeth clamping down roughly on flesh inside his mouth, but he needs something to distract him from those unwanted touches Iro leaves on him, to forget about the hand that slides underneath his shirt to feel the skin of his stomach.

"At least you're pretty - that's one of the few good things about you," Iro whispers.

Laurence lets out a sound akin to a sob in response. He knows it's his fault he's here and he knows that Iro is right. Even when he's not doing a thing to provoke anyone, that's enough - all he has to do, it seems, is so much as breathe and everyone including him will be reminded about how wrong it all is. He forces himself not to think about the hand pulling his shirt up to reveal more of his skin to the cool air of his room, or the fingers that hook themselves against the waist of his trousers with much deliberation. Perhaps it is the lack of movement that makes things worse: He does hear fingernails running down fabric and tracing around his slowly hardening cock through his pants, but Iro hesitates when he pulls down Laurence's pants. The anticipation is painful - because Iro is so slow Laurence wonders if he might just give up and leave him alone, humiliated but very much unscathed.

He doesn't.

He pulls down Laurence's trousers and undergarments, taking his time in doing so. With every inch of skin that ends up further exposed Laurence's hyperventilating intensifies. His heartbeat hammers loudly in his ears, nearly drowning out whatever it is Iro's trying to say. He's unfortunate enough to hear it, though. He hears Iro draw in a slight breath, followed up with: "No need to get so worked up, Laurence, it's not like you're any good at hiding the fact that you get off to this, or that you were simply asking for it, weren't you?"

 _I was. Because I'm useless and pathetic and good for nothing else._ "No, no I wasn't."

"You were. You think you can parade around the way you do, you're practically begging to get fucked."

"It doesn't matter if I was, please just let me be-"

He's stopped when Iro wraps his fingers around his cock.

"All it took was me feeling you up for you to close your mouth, I see." Iro's voice is quiet and venomous.

Laurence says nothing. He opens his eyes now - it doesn't matter whether his eyes are opened or closed, he can't hide from what's happening to him, or the fact that it's his fault any of this is happening at all. Feeling sickened, he stares at Iro's knuckles and fingers, the pulse in his fingers against Laurence's cock very faint but still very much there. Iro is right, he is pathetic: All it takes to shut him up is someone else simply touching him, no matter how much he says he doesn't want it. And he's sure he doesn't. Even though for every time Iro moves his fingers just a little further up or down he's greeted by Laurence moaning softly, it's because he can't _help_ it and his body's the first to react as opposed to his mind.

"Go on," Iro murmurs. "Go on, make noise for me."

He tries not to. Even though an unwanted pleasure flares up in his stomach Laurence keeps his mouth closed. He doesn't want to make a sound, he hates this-

Iro begins to move his hand a bit more, dragging his palm and closed fingers up and down Laurence's cock. Much to his disgust, the gesture's enough to make him let out a high, hiccuping wail. He reaches up to cover his mouth but Iro lays a hand on his arm to bring it back down, declaring, "Don't hide from me. If you were as scared of me as you said you were, you wouldn't be making the noises you are now."

Laurence stops biting on the inside of his mouth. Jagged, split flesh salty with the first droplets of blood greet him when he runs his tongue along the spot his teeth clenched down on. Iro continues pumping at him, thumb streaking over the slit of his cock and smearing pre-cum across its head. It feels good, Iro squeezing around the veins faint on his cock and rubbing at him. As Iro continues to pump him, Laurence starts to weep: Heavy, hot tears begin to course down his face and wet his cheeks. Even though his body grows hot with arousal and his muscles are beginning to relax, his mind is frantic.

"Iro-" he manages, meaning to beg for him to stop.

Iro circles the edge of his nail around Laurence's cock, making him shiver. "Keep moaning out my name, Laurence. You know you wanted this."

He shakes his head, letting out a loud sniffle. Laurence reaches up to wipe away the tears from his face, soaking his hand and sleeve. His breathing is distorted with snot, chest rising and falling for every second Iro continues to pump at his cock. He despises the fact that even through his crying he's still moaning, and that he still thrusts up into Iro's firm grip - he doesn't want more, it's his fault even though he told Iro he never wanted it. But it's just as he'd been told: He's not one of them. If he were maybe things would be different.

Laurence sobs into his arm, shaking like a leaf. Iro continues to stroke at him, hand tugging at his cock again and again. He can feel the lines of Iro's palms and fingers creasing against his skin. He feels as though he's paralyzed, and he might as well be: Completely at the mercy of someone he didn't even think would remind him of just how unworthy he was of being here, how filthy and rotten and undeserving and possibly subhuman he really is. Iro reminds him of how disgusting he is it physically pains him, in spite of his trembling legs and the soft moaning escaping his mouth.

A sudden rush of pleasure sweeps over him, far too much to properly catalogue. 

"Iro," he pleads through tears, "Iro, I-"

His crying only intensifies when he climaxes. His arms clench and unclench, stomach tensing up as a forced euphoria sweeps over him. He cums all over Iro's hand, watching seed drip over his fingers and paint his knuckles white. Laurence sobs when Iro pulls his hand away to wipe off the cum, pressing back into the bed as if that will somehow protect him a little more. His head presses into the mattress of the bed and he starts hyperventilating again, sickened at the fact that he kept moaning as if he wanted more (he's certain he didn't, even though Iro keeps whispering to him that he does, he always will want more even if he claims otherwise). He turns his head so that his cheek presses against soft fabric, tears and snot staining the spot he rests his head upon.

"You little hypocrite," Iro says in a voice about as comforting as broken glass.

Laurence only hiccups in response.

"You insist to me that you don't want me fooling around with you and that you don't even know why I've got to put you in your place, and then you go and make a little fool of yourself crying and calling my name out like you're a bitch in heat."

He shivers. Gooseflesh prickles his skin.

"Surely someone like you wouldn't mind if I did anything more, right?"

Laurence shakes his head, silently pleading that Iro will leave him alone. _Please, I know I'm awful, I know the only thing I'm good at is opening my legs up for other people. Please don't do anything more with me, I think I know from what you've done to me by now._

"Of course you wouldn't mind. You go around tempting everyone else and playing the part of the wise-beyond-his-years scholar who often keeps to himself, but you know you want this. You'll like this."

Iro moves and wrenches Laurence's legs apart. He clenches his teeth so hard he swears he can hear his molars crack. He watches Iro grope around in his pocket before pulling out a small bottle of some oily substance. Laurence knows what will happen next and his stomach lurches at the thought. But Iro decides to take his time, dragging his hand down between Laurence's leg to press up against his ass. He presses an experimental thumb against the puckered, pink hole, watching Laurence's eyes go wide.

He begins to sputter, "Iro, please, I know that I don't belong here, I'm sorry, please stop-"

Iro takes the knife that has been almost forgotten about and presses it up against Laurence's throat. "Quit your blubbering and I'll go easy on you, Laurence."

Laurence quiets down again. 

He watches Iro unscrew the cap to the little bottle, pouring the clear solution out. It glistens on his fingers, thick and slimy-looking. There's a moment of Iro spreading the transparent liquid across his fingers, smoothing it over knuckles and nails. Then he presses his fingers up against Laurence's entrance again. At first he winces a little at the feel of too-hard nails bumping up against the tender flesh there. Iro remains silent for a moment, the sound of his anticipatory breathing filling the otherwise quiet room. He's being careful on purpose, Laurence realizes with horror, because he knows that it doesn't count if Laurence gets any pleasure out of it. The worst part is he does - he does react to what Iro's been doing to him.

 _Why should it matter?_ he thinks to himself. _It's not like anyone needs to ask you anyways - whoring yourself out is all you'll ever be good for. You're not some blushing virgin desperate to keep your purity - you can't even remember when you lost your virginity, that's how unseemly you are. It only hurts because you deserve it. Iro says so. Ludwig would think so, too - he's only kind to you because he's supposed to treat everyone that way, even you. Even you, disgusting you._

He doesn't mean to let out that little whine when Iro slips his fingers inside of him. He's invasive yet precise, twisting around inside of Laurence's ass and being very careful about it. His fingers press up against the tight walls, rubbing up against soft pink flesh. When he hits that cluster of nerves inside of Laurence, straightening out his knuckles just a bit and the ends of his nails touching just up against Laurence's prostate, he gets another moan wrenched out of him in exchange. Again, Laurence finds his legs beginning to shake: No matter how much he tells himself and tells Iro he doesn't want this and that he wants to be left alone, he's still weak and rotten enough to make these noises.

"See? Not that difficult. All you had to do was quit crying so loudly."

Iro begins to pull down his trousers, watching Laurence turn about as much as he can on the bed. He feels the weight of the mattress creak under him - it's ironic, that the place where he's reminded of the fact that he will never truly belong at Byrgenwerth is his own room, the one place Laurence thought he could forget about everything else. He holds his breath - _pretend Iro's just another customer, pretend that he bothered to pay you -_ but he can't pretend otherwise. Not during a time like this. The only brief respite he gets is the pause. There is a moment where everything is held still, the quietness of the tableau lending itself to the illusion of calm. Laurence listens to the sound of his own breathing, ragged and raspy from his crying and hyperventilating. He thinks about the feeling of the blade on his skin, how even long after Iro put the knife away the metal still tingles as though it's still being held in place.

The tableau shatters and Iro shoves his pelvis forward, lodging himself inside.

It doesn't hurt. Iro is rough, his cock scraping around harshly inside of Laurence's ass, but he is careful in not drawing blood or making Laurence holler in pain. It's a pleasurable feeling, one that Laurence is used to and his body welcomes when the head of Iro's cock briefly presses up against his prostate. He brings his hand up to his mouth to bite down and try and keep himself quiet, but a moan leaks out of his mouth anyways.

"Look at you whimpering. You don't even have to talk for me to know that you want more."

Laurence doesn't bother shaking his head. It wasn't enough to stop Iro before. Why would it be enough now?

"Good, good," whispers Iro when Laurence rubs back sharply against his cock. "You know what to do - why wouldn't you?"

Laurence doesn't answer.

Iro fucks him slowly. He's rough, but not overbearingly so, brutal inside of him even with the pain still fresh on Laurence's mind. His fingers squeeze hold of Laurence's hips, thumbs pressing into bone through fabric. It's pleasurable and that's what Laurence hates most about it, the fact that Iro's reducing him to nothing more than a moaning mess because it's his fault. He's weak enough to get off to this and find pleasure from it all.

His arms go limp at his sides as Iro continues to thrust in and out of him, rendered a snot-nosed mess unable to say more than monosyllabic whining. He can hear Iro groaning above him, low and throaty and hungry. He takes and takes and takes, far from paying attention to the fact that Laurence is even crying. _It's my fault,_ Laurence thinks, _my fault that I was stupid enough to think this time would be different. It's never different. It's never different. I'm always stupid enough to think it will be._

He chokes on phlegm thick in his throat. Iro continues to use him, very aware of every time Laurence cries out and bucks up against him unwillingly. It's too much, even after he's just cum from Iro getting him off with his hands. He can't even beg for Iro to stop and leave him alone, all Laurence can let out now are just half-uttered curses and choked, unfinished pleads to stop. And why should he even bother? He reminds himself again that he was practically asking for it, as well as the fact that Iro could easily slit his throat or worse with that knife of his.

Laurence comes first: The worst part is that he gets pleasure from it, feeling warmth flare up and wash over him. He lets out a muffled wail, cum dribbling out of his cock and coating his stomach. He goes limp upon the mattress, convulsing as Iro continues to push into him with his swollen erection. Then it's Iro's turn, the feeling of his cum coating Laurence's entrance making him feel absolutely sick.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" He pulls out of Laurence, watching the cum dribble out of his ass. Laurence says nothing, quiet crying fading to breathing thick with mucus. Then:

"Answer me." The tip of the knife is electrifying upon his skin.

"No." Laurence's voice cracks when he speaks. "It wasn't."

Iro pockets the knife. "Not a word of this to anyone else, you know."

Laurence is beginning to come back to his senses. He thinks about that knife, and how Iro could run it down his face, first splitting open the soft tissue of his eyeball and then digging its sharp edge into his cheek hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

"No. Of course I won't."

"Good."

Iro redresses and leaves Laurence's dorm. He curls up on his side to stare at a crack in the wall. He wants to cry, but that's a luxury he hardly deserves. So for a while he just lies there, facing away from the bronzy afternoon light illuminating his room. The sunlight is warm on his skin that's not covered up by his clothes. It's numbing: Numbing to realize how weak and pathetic he is, how he's only able to cry when it all comes down to it and he's not strong enough to defend himself. He's numb to the fact that Iro is right, too. He must have known that deep down. That he was nothing but a whore whose only good trait was keeping his legs open.

He cleans himself up, remembering his walk with Ludwig. He scrubs at himself with a soapy washcloth, leaving splotches of pink upon his skin - it's as though the dirt will never come out, it's attached uncomfortably just beneath the skin where he'll never be able to pry it out with his nails and truly be clean. He redresses, taking the time to wipe away the tears and snot smeared upon his face. _Maybe I'll feel better later, once I'm able to spend some time with Ludwig._

The feeling of numbness - or rather, the lack of feeling anything - still overtakes him even as he walks to meet Ludwig upon the edge of the grounds. He tries to maintain an illusion of calm and contentedness, one that he tries to make authentic by pretending to admire the surroundings of Byrgenwerth's grounds with its tall towering trees and fields dripping with grass. But Ludwig must notice how his smile twitches as though he's not really smiling at all, or the slight limp to his walk with every step he takes, because when he approaches Ludwig at the edge of the woods he's greeted with a concerned frown.

"Laurence, is something the matter?"

_You shouldn't have to know. I don't deserve this, let alone you._

He falls to the ground and throws up, the foul taste of vomit stinging his mouth. Perhaps he wasn't entirely as numb as he thought - the memory of Iro violating him because he deserved it is still fresh in his mind, too fresh.

"Laurence!" Ludwig kneels next to him, tentatively reaching out a hand as if to grab him by the shoulder. "Are you sick? What's wrong?"

Shaking violently with the weight of what just happened so heavy on his mind, Laurence begins to sob.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Lesson in Consent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822010) by [MrsLittletall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsLittletall/pseuds/MrsLittletall)




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